


Terms of Destruction

by unofficialsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unilock, University, Viclock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's time at college. Friendships, drugs, bullying, success and praise, and failure and heartbreak.</p><p>~May not be writing this fic anymore--I feel like I'm beating a dead horse with the unilock and Viclock at the moment so I might get back to this and might not...If I feel like I need to write this again, it will show up as incomplete again.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Were at Uni Together

All he knew was that he was glad to be away from his house, and more than delighted to be away from Mycroft.

Sherlock hadn't exactly _wanted_ to go to university, but Mycroft had nearly begged him to. It did have its upsides-Sherlock was going to hopefully learn a bit more about the fields that would help him in becoming a consulting detective. And he was away from the stupidity of his former classmates, so perhaps he might meet some smart people who would be at least close to a friend.

He liked the campus and the dorms well enough-he'd been paired with a strange young man as a roommate-Sebastian Wilkes. A young man who didn't seem terribly bright at all; wanted to be a banker, the idiot.

Soon enough he was in class, listening to professors drone on about various subjects, and Sherlock sat, pretending to take notes on things he already knew, or couldn't give a shit about.

But then came chemistry, and the pre requisite criminal justice course, and Sherlock was able to tell and show what he knew. The professors of both classes seemed impressed; the students annoyed. But Sherlock walked out of both, smiling to himself a little. All he knew was that this uni thing may not be so bad after all.

 

It was the first weekend when Sebastian came in drunk off his ass, sat next to Sherlock on Sherlock's bed (Sherlock had been studying until Sebastian sat down) and promptly tried to kiss him. Sherlock in shock had shoved him off the bed and Sebastian rose quickly, punching Sherlock in the face and then holding his roommate down to try again.

'Come on you bastard, don't be shy,' Sebastian slurred in his ear.

Sherlock kicked him in the groin, and was half-way out the door before Sebastian had a firm grip on his hair, trying to turn him around to face him again. Sherlock aimed a final kick at the young man and slid out before running down the hallway to Sebastian's shouts of 'FREAK!'

He collapsed on a bench several buildings away and laid there, praying his roommate would be gone the next morning.

All Sherlock knew was that he hated this, and needed to stop it.

 

All he knew was that he hated Sebastian Wilkes. Sherlock snuck back into the room early to collect his books and violin. He'd figured that he could hide them somewhere so Sebastian wouldn't have anything to take his anger out on when Sherlock wasn't around.

His violin he found where it was under his bed. His books were in the bush under their window.

Sherlock didn't like uni that much.

The next week Sebastian had apparently spread a rumor that Sherlock was gay. Whether people believed it or not, enough of them hated Sherlock for finding things out about them or showing off during class, so insults clung to him quite quickly from much of the student body.

Sherlock didn't sleep in his dorm room, and never kept his things in the same spot twice in a row.

His professors looked at him with what may have been flickers of concern, but Sherlock had put up with idiots' bullshit for years, and knew that the words of a teacher meant nothing to a stupid student.

 

Sherlock was walking across a busy street when the dog bit him viciously on the ankle and he fell, scattering his books everywhere. A car swerved to avoid him and the dog wouldn't let go.

'Rocky! LET GO!'

The young man was Victor Trevor; Sherlock recognized him from a class they had in common. He winced as the terrier unattached his teeth from his ankle, and groaned in pain when he saw the blood staining his leg. 'Maybe keep your dog on a leash,' he growled to Victor, clutching his ankle.

'He was-he got free.' Victor bent next to Sherlock, keeping a hand in front of 'Rocky' to keep him seated. 'Jesus I am so sorry.'

'No, it's fine, I always wanted my ankle ripped open,' Sherlock snarled hazily. He couldn't tell if it was blood loss or pain, but he definitely was close to passing out. 

'I've called for an ambulance,' a man said, standing over them both. 'Shouldn't be long.'

'Urghhhh.' Sherlock groaned irritably. The last thing he needed was a hospital visit, and definitely not one that his brother would in all likelihood find out about.

He was vaguely aware that Victor stayed with him when the paramedics got there, and had a horrified look on his face when Sherlock cried out in pain as they tried to wrap up his ankle until they could get to the hospital.

All that Sherlock knew was that he hated terriers, and was never going to hear the end of this from Mycroft.

 

It was 8:30 at night and Sherlock was laying on his bed, ankle stitched and wrapped, crutches leaning on the wall next to him. Lucky that Sebastian was out for the night.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock sat up but didn't move, praying it wasn't Sebastian having forgotten his keys. If it was, he'd leave. 

The person behind the door knocked twice more and Sherlock rose, his leg giving him a searing pain for his efforts. After taking his time to limp slowly to the door, Sherlock opened it to see Victor Trevor.

'Oh brilliant, I was just thinking about you,' Sherlock said sardonically. He moved aside and let Victor, who was frowning, in.

'They've got you on crutches?' Victor bit his lip and looked down. 'I'm really sorry. I always see you running through the buildings and on the roofs...I hope this doesn't keep you from that for long.'

'You've...seen me doing that?' Sherlock blinked and then nearly yelped as his leg throbbed. He tried to pass it off as a bracing smile as he sat and motioned for Victor to do the same.

'Yeah...I er...noticed it the one day and then saw you doing it quite alot.' He looked at Sherlock. 'Listen, I want to make up for my dog biting you.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorted. 'How?'

'I don't have a roommate, I know how much of a prat Sebastian is, and I know you don't sleep in here most nights anyways, so he wouldn't miss you.' Victor raised his eyebrows at Sherlock.

'You're asking me to room with you,' Sherlock said incredulously.

'Course. You're really smart, we're in similar fields of study and we both are of the opinion that Sebastian Wilkes is a git.'

Sherlock studied Victor for a moment. 'Only if that bloody dog is living somewhere else,' he said finally.

Victor stood and grinned. 'Arranged for him to be sent back home tomorrow.' 

As Sherlock shook hands with the young man, all he knew was that he surprisingly liked Victor Trevor, and maybe university wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. We Were at Uni Together

Sherlock was sitting on the wall smoking as Victor read out loud from Macbeth dramatically. Victor thought Shakespeare was dull, but easy enough; Sherlock found it brilliant.

'You should've been an actor, Victor,' Sherlock laughed. He crushed the end of the cigarette on the brick and threw it into a bush.

'Definitely. My law career would miss me too much, though. The world needs me to defend justice in court, and I shan't let it down by wasting that talent.'

Sherlock snorted. He'd been living with Victor for two weeks, and was always surprised to say that he thought of him as a friend. Who knew what getting an ankle ripped open by a dog would do for you.

'So, go on.' Victor leapt up onto the wall and perched next to Sherlock. 'What are you doing with all the justice system classes? You said you weren't studying for law.'

'Detective work.' Sherlock barely voiced his aspirations to people, mainly because Mycroft had been a constant bickering of noise, telling his younger sibling how much better he could do with his life. Mycroft didn't understand-better was dull.

'Woah, really?' 

Sherlock shrugged. 'You know me-and what I do-I observe and then deduce from all that. I think it could be beneficial to crimes.'

'So you wanna work with the police then?' Victor closed the book and lifted himself onto the wall next to Sherlock, interested.

Sherlock lit another cigarette. 'Nope,' he said, talking with the end between his teeth. 'Tried that years ago, didn't work.'

'Well no wonder why; how young were you?'

Sherlock didn't answer that one. It didn't ever cross his mind that it might have been his age that prevented the police from looking what he'd pointed out. In his mind, being right should have been more important than the age of the person giving them the information.

'Okay, so how're you gonna do it if you don't work for the police then?' Victor asked curiously, grinning slightly. At Sherlock's silence he laughed. 'You haven't given the whole process much thought, have you?'

'You should take things one piece at a time, especially larger things,' Sherlock muttered. 'Easier that way; makes more sense.' He sighed faintly. 'Suppose I'd have to make friends with someone in the force or something, wouldn't I?'

'Friends?' Victor grinned. 'C'mon mate you don't even talk to anyone besides me.'

Sherlock blinked at him. 'I would assume the common want for the case to be solved would be enough to bring me in some inspector's good books.'

'And maybe turn down the smart ass a little and then you're all set.'

'Anyways, no one else is worth talking to. Besides you,' Sherlock said quickly at Victor's look. 'You're the only one I talk to for a reason.'

'Oh.' Victor grinned. 'I suppose I'm special then. The "not as dull as you could have been" bloke on campus; the only normal one to show up as a blip on Sherlock Holmes' radar.'

Sherlock looked at him for a while, smiling faintly. 'Oh I wouldn't say normal or dull, Victor.' He slid off the wall and landed crouched on his feet. His leg still twinged at times but he was definitely done with coddling it. 'There's a locked room in the chemistry department, but it's on the top floor and has a skylight, and I could definitely get to it from the roof.' He slung his bag over his shoulder and looked at Victor questioningly. 

Victor shook his head, sighing, but grinned and leapt down next to Sherlock all the same. 'You're going to actually fuck up your leg this time, you know that?'

Sherlock grinned and led the way.

'So how the hell did you get into drugs?'

Sherlock looked up at Victor tiredly. 'How did you get into smoking grass?'

'That's different.' Victor shook his head. 'Do you know how easy it is to fuck up a cocaine injection?'

'You know me. I wouldn't fuck it up.' Sherlock held Victor's gaze steadily. 'And yes, I'm well aware of any dangers from whomever I buy it from, thanks.'

Victor sighed loudly, tilting his head back and rubbing the back of his neck, shifting his weight between his feet.

'Don't get upset; it's my body I'm emptying syringes into.' Victor flinched before meeting the grey-blue eyes.

'I just don't want to find that body, dead,' he said quietly after a while.

Sherlock was silent. 'No one else would care,' he said, barely audible, as if thinking to himself.

'Fuck-no.' Victor crossed the room in two steps and stood before Sherlock, gripping his shoulders firmly. 'I would care,' he said and Sherlock averted his eyes.

'Forget it, Victor, I didn't mean anything-'

'Like hell you didn't.' Sherlock looked up, startled by the change in pitch of Victor's voice and saw his roommate's eyes were wet. 'Like hell you didn't. Everything you do has a rational purpose, Sherlock. Everything. And self-destruction for it's own sake isn't something with a purpose.' He looked into Sherlock's eyes, his gaze hard. 'You think nobody sees anything, nobody notices and maybe nobody else does, but I do.'

Before Sherlock knew what was happening Victor's mouth was on him and he was kissing his best friend back, suddenly leeching his arms around Victor as if the young man were a life source and not just a human being. It felt like ages that they were connected embracing, until Victor finally pulled his face away.

Sherlock swallowed heavily and his breath came out shakily. 'Victor--'

'Just-' Victor clenched his eyes closed and pressed his face into Sherlock's chest, still hugging him tightly. 'shut up. Just shut up, okay.'

But Sherlock buried his face in the dirty blond hair and hugged Victor back tightly. 'Thank you,' he whispered faintly. 'Thank you...'


End file.
